


Worthwhile

by Name_Pending



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brothers, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 23:46:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11679588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Name_Pending/pseuds/Name_Pending
Summary: Jon Snow meets baby Sam for the first time.





	Worthwhile

Jon hadn’t been back at Castle Black for long. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been back exactly - the first few days had been hazy and fever-laced while the wounds left by Ygritte’s arrows started to heal. Without Maester Aemon’s help they would likely have festered.

Now he was stronger, bruised and damaged but better by miles. He had stood before the maester, Ser Alliser, Lord Janos and the others, and he had been allowed to keep his head. He’d told them all that he could about Mance Rayder’s army and the band of wildlings south of the Wall, and now there was nothing to do but prepare for the coming attack. He did not relish the thought of fighting the wildlings as he once had, though. He knew them better now.

The Free Folk were just men, he had learned. Savage and brutal in many ways, indescribably foreign, but men all the same. There were worse things out there. He would fight the wildlings when the attack came as he had sworn to do; they were still his enemy. But his time with Ygritte and the others had changed his perception of them. Now that he had dined with them and talked with them and slept with one …

Fighting them was not as easy now as it had been back when he had thought them as completely different to those born south of the Wall.  

It was hard, he had found, being back at the Wall with his brothers. Many of them named him a traitor for his part in the death of Qhorin Halfhand and for his time with the wildlings. Even the ones that did not seemed to think that he should just slip back into his role as a crow, as easily as if the wildlings had had no impact on him at all.

Except for his closest brother and best friend, Samwell Tarly.

Sam didn’t understand, not really. He was still terrified of the wildlings. Yet he seemed so close to one of them, the girl Gilly, that Jon couldn’t help but be amused. Sam had been intrigued by Gilly since the first time he’d met her at Craster’s Keep, Jon remembered. He was immensely glad that Sam had escaped the mutiny that had occurred there, and found that it brought a smile to his face to think of his cowardly friend Sam refusing to leave without the wildling girl and her baby.

She’d named the baby after him. Sam had told Jon that earlier, when he had been trying to distract Jon from the news of the Red Wedding. It was supposed to be a comfort, Jon was sure, though it wasn’t. Nonetheless, he saw how touched Sam was, and he seemed as taken with the newborn as any true father was with his son. Jon could tell that much just from the pride and love in Sam’s voice when he spoke about Gilly and baby Sam.

Sam was rarely far from Gilly these days, especially since Maester Aemon seemed to have taken a shine to the girl and her child. So Jon Snow was not in the least bit surprised that, when he eventually sought out Sam’s company after spending so long in his lonely quarters (lonelier than ever now without Ghost), he found him with Gilly and the baby.

They were plucking feathers from poultry in the hall by the kitchens. The two turned to look at him, halting their conversation immediately. They looked wary, but Sam’s face slipped into a smile as he saw who it was. Gilly was more hesitant, and Jon was reminded that he did not know this girl and had spoken to her only once, back at Craster’s when he had refused to let her come with the Night’s Watch party. It seemed it was a wasted effort - she had wound up back at Castle Black with them anyway. He hoped that Gilly wouldn’t hold it against him. He knew that she was special to Sam and found himself strangely keen for her to like him.

“Jon.” Sam sounded pleased to see him.

“Hello, Sam. Gilly.”

“Hello” Gilly greeted him hesitantly.

Jon took a seat on the wooden bench next to Sam, half-heartedly starting to pluck a chicken’s feathers, figuring that he might as well make himself useful since he was fidgety anyway. A silence fell over the the three adults, but it was interrupted by the soft mewling coming from the baby.

Jon looked at him for the first time. Baby Sam was a robust, handsome babe, he thought, especially considering that he was, by blood, a bastard born of incest. He had Gilly’s cheekbones and a content look.

Sam and Gilly both looked to the infant at the quiet sounds he made, the same expression of adoration flitting across both their faces. Jon felt suddenly out of place, like he was intruding on a precious family moment. This child was _not_ Sam’s and yet … Sam looked at him the way Jon remembered Lord Eddard Stark looking at his own children.

“How are you feeling?”

It took Jon a moment to realise Sam was talking to him. “Better. Still a bit stiff but at least I got Maester Aemon to stop trying to give me milk of the poppy.”

Sam smiled at him. He opened his mouth to say more but was interrupted by a sudden cry from the baby and both turned quickly to look at him.

Gilly didn’t seem bothered, though. She simply reached out and ran her fingers gently down the tiny cheeks, and baby Sam quietened at his mother’s touch. It was admirable, in a way, that she knew what to do so quickly. Judging by the look on his face, Sam thought it was magical. Again, Jon felt like he was intruding, and this time he stood to leave.

“Jon?” Sam asked, reached out a hand as if to stop him from leaving. “I thought you’d come to talk. I’ve hardly seen you since you got back.”

Once it would have sounded like Sam was whining; now it sounded only like concern.

“I’ve nothing to say, really” Jon shrugged, feigning boredom. “You already know everything.”

“There’s more to life than what happened beyond the Wall” Sam said.

Jon nodded without comment - he knew that all too well. Life was finally knowing a woman’s arms and now being without them. Life was knowing he was home but being surrounded by men who resented him. Life was being stuck here at the end of the seven kingdoms, unable to avenge Robb or go after Bran. Life was tiring.

Another silence had fallen in place of a response and it was uncomfortable. Sam seemed to sense that he had said the wrong thing, and Gilly was too wary to speak up if she had any thoughts on the matter. Jon was just about to excuse himself when Gilly stood quietly, beginning to gather up the naked birds on the table, brushing feathers aside carelessly.

“I’ll take these into the kitchen. Keep an eye on little Sam” she told Sam, and she graced Jon with a hesitant half-smile as she left the room.

Sam nodded vaguely, too busy watching Jon to pay her much attention. It struck Jon that Sam must be used to this, comfortable with it - being left with Gilly’s baby that was named for him while she did odd jobs around the worn castle. Still, he wondered if the wildling girl had made an excuse to get out of the room. He should probably ease her discomfort by leaving before she returned.

“Is she frightened of me?” Jon found himself asking. “She didn’t have to leave.”

“She’s not frightened of you. She’s just a bit … unsure, of everyone here.” Sam smiled. “I think I’m the only one she’s comfortable with. Well, and Maester Aemon, of course.”

Jon nodded; it was difficult not to like the kindly old maester who practically bled wisdom and care.

“She’ll be more comfortable with you the more time you spend with her” Sam continued. “I take my meals with her now, most days. You could join us?”

It was an honest invitation, Jon knew, but he wasn’t sure about it all the same. “I’m busy, Sam” he said apologetically.

“I know,” Sam said “but you still need to eat.”

Jon sighed and nodded in agreement, sitting down next to his friend again. If Sam wanted him and Gilly to spend time with him simultaneously, he could certainly think of worse people to be around in Castle Black. Maybe Gilly would get used to him and stop looking so nervous.

He was just about to start plucking again when the baby started whimpering and he glanced over at him nervously, hoping he wasn’t about to start wailing. Jon remembered Arya and Bran and Rickon as babes - with varying degrees of clarity as he’d aged - but he had never spent a lot of time with them when they were so little. Lady Stark had been very attentive to her own children, rarely letting her babies out of her arms, and he had never been welcome to come and fuss over the baby as his trueborn siblings had. His father had always allowed him to hold a new baby and he knew how to cradle one properly, but his experience was certainly limited.

Sam, though, seemed unworried. He simply leaned over and gently lifted the baby out of his basket, cradling him in his big, soft arms. Jon watched with a queer sort of fascination as Sam rocked the baby in a motion so sure that he had to have done it a hundred times before.

 _He would make a good father_ , Jon realised sadly. _This baby is the closest he will ever know_.

Jon found himself abandoning any pretence of plucking the remaining birds in front of them, electing to simply watch. It took only moments before the infant was quiet, nestled contently in Sam’s arms, but he whimpered a little when Sam went to put him down. Sam relented and sat back on the bench, deciding to just hold the baby for now.

“He doesn’t like that basket much” he explained to Jon. “He prefers sleeping in Gilly’s arms. Or mine.”

The last part was whispered, and Jon smiled gently at the love in his best friend’s voice.

“You’re good with him” he offered by way of a compliment.

“Thank you” Sam said, quietly so as not to disturb the child, though the babe did not seem tired. His eyes were open and he looked up at Sam contently. “Do you know, I’d never held a baby before this one. Not that I can remember. I suppose I might have held Dickon when he was born, but my father...”

He trailed off, and Jon didn’t need an explanation to understand that Randyll Tarly had not wanted the two brothers to be close. He wondered if that was because he’d wanted Sam to do other things or because he didn’t want Dickon corrupted by his elder brother’s influence. He suspected the latter, and it made him sad and angry at the same time.

“He’s lucky to have you.”

Sam beamed at him. “I am rather good with him, aren’t I?”

The two laughed at the lack of modesty, grinning at each other like they hadn’t since Jon’s return. Baby Sam made a noise, like he wanted to join in with the laughter, and it unwittingly brought smiles to both men’s faces. Sam looked up and caught Jon smiling down at the baby he held.

“Do you want to hold him?” he asked.

Jon looked almost startled. “No, that’s alright, Sam.”

“He won’t bite” Sam jested. “No more than Ghost, anyway.”

Jon felt a fleeting sadness wash over him and Sam’s smile faltered as they remembered together that Ghost had not returned. Jon missed the companionship his direwolf had provided, and he missed even more the company at night. Now, after he had grown so used to Ygritte’s warm body beside him, he wished that he could bury his face in the wolf’s white fur as he had so many times before. The nights were cold and lonely without Ygritte, and the wolf would had been a welcomed comfort.

Jon looked down at the baby again, the thought suddenly coming to him that Sam had his own sort of comfort in Gilly and her baby. He didn’t know exactly what their relationship was, but there was love within it, that much was obvious.

He sighed, trying to smile at his friend who now seemed worried he’d upset him. Holding this child was the closest he would ever get to holding a nephew, he thought glumly. With Robb dead, Bran lost to him beyond the Wall and Rickon missing, Sam would be the only brother to offer him his child to hold that he’d ever know. This little wildling bastard might be the closest thing to a nephew he’d ever meet, and Sam was proud enough of him that the boy could well have been his.

“Oh, go on then” he said quietly, allowing himself to smile reassuringly. “It’s … been awhile, since I held a babe. The last was my little brother, Rickon.”

“There’s nothing to it, really” Sam remarked kindly. “Here.”

Jon formed a cradle with his arms and Sam gently laid the baby there, taking a moment to adjust the angle of Jon’s arms. Then he leant back, letting Jon adjust his hold until he held the bundle comfortably.

Little Sam was warm even through the skins wrapped around him and he had dislodged one arm that was flailing up at Jon now. The babe’s eyes were open and he seemed curious about the new person, the tiny fingers on his free hand clenching open and closed repeatedly, as if searching for something.

Sam might have said something, but Jon got the message on his own. Instinctively, he shifted the baby until he was cradled in his left arm, and he offered the babe his right hand, extending one finger. Baby Sam’s little fingers gripped onto him tightly, holding firmer than Jon could remember Bran or Rickon doing. It pulled an effortless smile from him.

He suddenly remembered Maester Aemon’s words to him, a lifetime ago: _What is honour compared to the feel of a newborn son in your arms?_ He didn’t know. He had no idea what it was like to hold your own child, but he had known a woman’s love and that was hard enough to leave behind. If he was so easily taken in by a stranger’s babe, he could not even begin to imagine what it would be like to hold his own child.

 _It doesn’t matter_ , a voice inside him said. _You’ll never find out. And you’re only so interested in this one because Sam cares for him_.

It was probably true - Jon had never been all that interested in babies before, he had always much prefered his siblings once they were old enough to join in with games and knew how to use the latrine - but right now it didn’t matter. For a few moments, all that mattered was the warm weight of the babe in his arms and the tiny fingers grasping one of his.

Sam sat quietly and watched the scene before him, his best friend and brother holding the boy that he secretly thought of as a son, despite his parentage. Baby Sam wasn’t his, it was true, but he was the closest thing the boy had to a father right now. He was miles better than Craster could ever have been, he was sure.

The door creaked open suddenly as Gilly returned, and the high-pitched squeal of old hinges disturbed the baby and he started to wail. Sam reached out to take the babe from Jon and Gilly rushed forward to do the same, but they needn’t have bothered. Without realising he was doing it, Jon rocked the baby and hushed him quietly, swaying his arms gently back and forth to calm him.

Gilly stopped in her tracks and locked eyes with Sam. Sam smiled reassuringly at her as she walked over to him slowly and took her place next to him on the bench. She peered around his great shoulders as the dark-haired crow she was still almost afraid of rocked her son in his arms. She was still very unsure of Jon Snow, who was clearly a warrior, unlike Sam, but she trusted Sam’s judgement. If he trusted Jon, then she would do the same. It certainly didn’t seem like he had any intent to harm her son. She had not known he was capable of being gentle like this, no matter what stories Sam had told her on the journey to the Wall.

Sam resisted the urge to put an arm around Gilly like she was the mother of his child. It wasn’t appropriate, no matter how right he thought it might feel, and so he settled for smiling at her before he returned to watching Jon, who by now had managed to get the baby to settle down. He was quiet in Jon’s arms, nestling into him, and Sam was surprised to find that he didn’t feel at all jealous.

He was used to feeling jealous of Jon Snow, who was his better in almost everything imaginable. But he couldn’t take this from Sam, and Sam knew he wouldn’t try. Jon had no interest in taking the babe from him; watching him with baby Sam was like watching a man hold his brother’s son for the first time.

He wished now that he and Gilly could really have their own children. Jon could be their uncle, he was Sam’s brother now as much as Dickon, moreso even. He would teach them all the things Sam could not - riding and hunting and fighting. Bravery, though, they’d have to share; Sam wasn’t brave, but he felt like he could pretend to be now. He would never let Gilly or the baby down, and that was its own sort of bravery.

Once the babe was settled and dozing, Jon locked eyes with Sam and he smiled. It occurred to him suddenly that, in all the time he’d been holding the baby, he had not once looked up from his tiny little face. Now, sheepishly, he complimented Gilly on her handsome son, the way he’d heard various visitors to Winterfell compliment Lady Stark on Bran and Rickon. Gilly did not have Lady Stark’s graces, and she stumbled out an awkward ‘thank you’. She was still wary of him but, he noticed happily, she did seem to be giving him genuinely kind looks now as her son slept in his arms. It was kinder than any look Lady Stark had ever given him when his father had allowed him to hold his baby brothers.

Still, he knew from past experience that mothers did not like to have their babies gone from their arms for too long, and so he - almost reluctantly - passed the babe to Gilly. He was surprised to find that the movement was not at all awkward. It would seem that the Night’s Watch vows did not take parental instincts from the men who swore them, even if they did take their rights to embrace such instincts.

Gilly placed the babe back in his basket, shushing him when he stirred, and Sam and Jon took advantage of the quiet moment to slip out of the hall, leaving Gilly to have a private moment with her son. Outside, Jon smiled at his friend.

“He’s lovely, Sam.” He didn’t know what else to say; usually one would comment on how alike father and son looked, but clearly that wasn’t possible now. It wouldn’t do to mention that soon Gilly and the baby would have to leave, and it would be unkind to hint at it, so Jon didn’t. “And you really are good with him.”

Sam just nodded. “You’re good with him, too, Jon.”

Jon laughed. “Let me know if you ever need a nursemaid.”

Sam burst out laughing at that. “Are you offering yourself as a wet nurse?” he teased. “Gilly might like the break, I’ll ask her about it.”

Jon shoved him, grinning despite himself. “A fine useless wet nurse I’d make.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve heard it said you’re pretty.”

Jon shoved him again. “You don’t have to be pretty to be a wet nurse!" 

“Oh, that’s true. You should have seen the one Dickon had when he was first born. She was built like a bear, I was always afraid of her...”

And just like that, the two were lost in easy conversation about their childhoods and ghastly, hairy wet nurses. Sam told tales of Dickon’s and Jon told tales of Old Nan, letting himself fall into retelling stories that he had heard from her as a boy.

The two had not forgotten their troubles, or the oncoming attack from Mance Rayder’s army, or the duties they were currently neglecting and would have to make up before they could sleep, but for now, it was just nice to laugh and jest with friends once again. This was what they were fighting for - life and laughter and surviving the winter.

This, Jon thought, might just make it all worthwhile.  


End file.
